


Monstrous Deeds

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [86]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Battle Magic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic Revealed, Merlin Needs a Hug (Merlin), Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Gaius (Merlin), Protective Knights (Merlin), Protective Merlin (Merlin), Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, can be platonic or romantic you decide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24790594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: question:how do you make a monsterstop feeling so monstrous?the road to hell is paved with good intentions.at what point do you become the things you fight?at what point does the line between us and them no longer exist?Merlin doesn't know anymore. So he accepts it. After all, a monster can still protect Arthur.
Relationships: Gaius & Merlin (Merlin), Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [86]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 24
Kudos: 760





	Monstrous Deeds

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much to angeldiaries on tumblr for the request!!! i had a lot of fun writing it! 
> 
> please, if y'all have requests lemme know :)

Fandom: Merlin (BBC)

Prompt: If you ever get the chance (pls don’t feel pressured ee) could you write on where Merlin’s magic is seriously powerful and he takes out a freaking army and Arthur kinda ee - angeldiaries on tumblr

* * *

The second it starts to rain oil Merlin knows he’s doomed.

He hadn’t thought so when a patrol rushed into the council chambers, harried, and covered in scrap from the forests. Arthur had stood up, frowning at the sudden intrusion.

“What is it?”

“An army,” the lead knight had panted, “an army is marching on Camelot.”

“Surely this is some kind of false alarm,” Arthur had said, laughing a little at the absurdity, only for it to swiftly change to frustration when the other knights corroborated the tale. “How is it that we’re just hearing about this now?”

“They’re still a few leagues out of range,” another knight had said, “we have time.”

“How much?”

“At least a fortnight.”

Arthur had snapped into action, barking orders to get the knights mobilized, the people safe, stores built, precautions in case they needed to bring people into the citadel. Merlin had simply watched, wondering where the _hell_ this came from.

“What forces,” Arthur had growled to the council after the alarm had been sounded, “would march on Camelot?”

“They carried no banners,” the knight that had stayed behind said, “they did not bear the sigil of any known kingdom. The only markings we could see were a blackcrown with a crow perched on top.”

“Merlin,” Arthur had barked, already striding out of the hall, “go to Gaius. See what he knows. If it’s not there, ask the librarians.”

“Where’re you going?”

“To tell the rest of the knights!”

Merlin had dashed down to Gaius, heart in his throat, unable to get the words out clearly until Gaius sat him down and _made_ him take a breath. His eyebrows had climbed higher and higher as Merlin kept talking.

“Arthur is right,” Gaius had said, “that sigil bears no resemblance to any of the other houses or kingdoms that have ever come into contact with Camelot in the past. I fear this is more sinister than we thought.”

“You don’t think it’s…”

“I do.” Gaius had taken one of the thick books down from the stack, flipping through the pages. Near the end, Merlin’s heart had dropped like a stone when he saw a black crown with a crow perched on top.

“That’s it!” He pointed at it. “That’s what the knight described.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Gaius, I’m going to need more than just an ‘oh dear.’”

“It’s the symbol of the Starving Army.”

“The what?”

“A magical force summoned from the site of a great battle,” Gaius explained solemnly. “It draws the power of spirits that have been slaughtered in meaningless combat, returning them to the earth as the embodiment of crows that delight and feast on the carnage. It’s supposed to be an invocation that demonstrates the nature of war as a pointless massacre, at least that’s how the inscription reads.”

“Why do I have a feeling that whoever uses the spell completely misses the point?” Merlin had raked a hand through his hair, trying to figure out what to do.

“Or perhaps,” Gaius had continued, fixing Merlin with a pointed look, “they know exactly what they are doing and are trying to force Camelot to confront its past.”

Merlin hadn’t thought he was doomed when he figured out Morgana was behind the army.

Instead, he’d simply sat down and put his head in his hands.

“What did I do,” he had muttered, “what did I _do?”_

“Merlin,” Gaius had admonished, “you cannot blame yourself for what happened.”

“Why not?” Merlin had got up, pacing around and waving his arms wildly in the air. “I know how lonely it is. I know how _terrifying_ it is. I know how awful it feels for people to lie to you and try and feed you more lies when you confront them.”

“In that case, you are not the only one to blame.” Gaius had the decency to look ashamed. “I myself must also be blamed.”

“And now she’s convinced that she can trust no one but herself.”

“Merlin—“

“How do we break the enchantment,” Merlin had interrupted, “how do we help the spirits return to rest?”

Gaius had consulted the book. “The war must be stopped.”

“Can’t we just kill the army?”

“They’re already undead, Merlin, that would only slow them down. And every man they kill would join their side, so long as their corpse remains in the range of the spell.”

“How close is that?”

Gaius had shaken his head. “They would have to _leave_ the battlefield while it’s still happening.”

Merlin had cursed. “So it has to be stopped voluntarily then.”

“By either the caster or the opponent.” Gaius had gone to reread the passage. “They must realize that the war is not worth fighting and repent, only then will the souls be at rest.”

“I don’t think Morgana is likely to agree to that,” Merlin had muttered darkly.

“No, but Arthur might.”

“He’s still convinced magic is evil,” Merlin had said wearily, throwing himself back down onto a stool, “and I don’t think Morgana is likely to want to sit him down and explain it to him.”

“Well, then it looks like you only have one option.”

“I can’t, Gaius,” Merlin had said, “I can’t. You know I can’t talk to Arthur. He won’t believe me.”

“Arthur values your council more than you know,” Gaius had said, “and I would not underestimate the lengths he would be willing to go to for you.”

“You’re joking.” Merlin had looked up incredulously at Gaius. “The first thing he would do is not believe me. You know how he talks about me.”

“Merlin—“

“And even if he does believe me,” Merlin had continued, raising his voice over Gaius’ protests, “he’ll be furious. I’ve lied to him since the moment we first met. I’ve betrayed him. I’ve killed his father.”

“Merlin!”

“You know I did!” Merlin had buried his face in his hands again. “I’ve lied to him. He trusted me. How—if anything, it would only make the war last _longer._ ”

Gaius hadn’t continued to shout. He had sat down next to Merlin and placed a weathered hand on his shoulder. “You will not be the reason Camelot falls, Merlin.”

“I may very well be,” Merlin had said miserably, “and if I’m not, I sure did give them a hand.”

“We all have, Merlin,” Gaius had stayed with him patiently. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

“I will save Arthur’s life,” Merlin had insisted stubbornly, “I will be the support he needs. I won’t risk that.”

“So you will hide yourself,” Gaius had said quietly, “and suffer for it.”

“If it means that Camelot is safe, then it doesn’t matter.”

There had been a moment of silence in their chambers.

“What happened,” Gaius had said finally, “to the boy who wanted to change the world?”

Merlin had laughed mirthlessly. “What makes you think I don’t?”

Gaius had given him a knowing look.

“You think I don’t want magic legalized? You think I don’t want an end to this?” Merlin has swiped angrily at his face. “You think this makes me _happy?_ To hide, to lie, to _kill_?”

“Merlin—“

“I hate it,” Merlin had insisted, “I absolutely hate it. I never wanted to be this. I never wanted to have to kill to protect people. I never wanted any of this.”

He had swallowed, raising his chin despite the tears brimming in his eyes. “But someone has to. So it might as well be me. I’m enough of a monster already.”

“Merlin,” Gaius had exclaimed, “surely you don’t believe—“

“What separates me from Morgana?” Merlin had glared at Gaius. “What does? Is it because I’m still in Camelot? Is it because I haven’t kidnapped anyone yet? What is it, Gaius?”

“You’re doing what’s _right,_ Merlin,” Gaius had pleaded.

“I am actively supporting a regime that targets my own people.” Merlin’s mouth had narrowed in disgust. “I have lied, schemed, betrayed, and killed. And I am too much of a coward to own it.”

Merlin had shrugged off Gaius and stood up. “I will ride with Arthur and I will save his life. And I will hope that he is good enough to convince Morgana to make peace.”

“And how will you do that,” Gaius had challenged, “you know Arthur would not be the man he is today without you.”

Merlin had scoffed.

“You, with none of the basic respect and decorum, have changed that man from an arrogant, spoiled brat into a king that I am now proud to serve,” Gaius had said sternly, rising to his feet, “and if you would walk away from that now, you would be a fool.”

Merlin had gritted his teeth. “I will be who Arthur thinks I am. The clumsy, foolish peasant who believes in the good of people. And I will tell him the truth about the army.”

“And what will you do,” Gaius had said as he approached slowly, “after?”

Merlin had smiled sadly at Gaius. “I will keep doing it until my dying breath.”

“What has made you so convinced,” Gaius had asked, despair finally bleeding into his tone, “that Arthur will not care for _you_ as you truly are?”

“You don’t love monsters, Gaius.”

“You are not a monster, Merlin,” Gaius had said, raising his voice to cut Merlin off, “and you are not unlikable. You think you cannot be liked so you settle for being useful.”

He had softened, coming to place a hand on Merlin’s elbow. “You are not as easily despised as you believe.”

“You don’t know that,” Merlin had muttered, unable to pull himself away from the warm touch, “you don’t know that.”

“I do,” Gaius had corrected softly, “because you cannot see what has happened.”

Merlin had glanced up, confused.

“You cannot see that while you have been here, you have started to believe the things they say to you.” Gaius had taken a step closer. “You cannot see that those voices in your head—some of them my own—have started to convince you that you _must_ hide this part of yourself. That it is worth hiding.”

Gaius had looked at Merlin with such an expression of heartbreak that Merlin’s own chest had winced sympathetically.

“You have started to believe that you are as bad as they say you are,” he had muttered, “and I regret my role in encouraging it.”

“Gaius, you’ve been there for me when no one else would’ve been—“

“And yet, I should’ve been better.” Gaius had stepped back. “Now, I know. I am old. I cannot change so easily. And I cannot do so much.”

“But you,” he had said, looking at Merlin, “you can. I know you can. You already have.”

Merlin had swallowed the painful lump in his throat. “I can’t do what you ask of me, Gaius, not now. It’s too risky.”

“Then not now,” Gaius had agreed, “but someday?”

Merlin had wiped the last of his tears and straightened his spine. “Someday,” he said hesitantly, “maybe.”

He had left the chambers with the information. Arthur had leaned onto his desk and cursed when Merlin told him, not leaving anything out.

“The only way to break it is to realize the war isn’t worth fighting,” Merlin had pleaded, “please. You know this isn’t something we can win, people will get _hurt—“_

“And what would you have me do?” Arthur had stared at him, fire burning in his eyes. “Not fight back? Let Morgana and her army of crows sweep over the land, destroying everything in their path?”

He had shaken his head, determined. “No. I can’t sit back and watch my sister destroy my people. I have to stop her.”

“You can’t fight this, Arthur,” Merlin had cried, “you know you can’t. Not like this.”

“It’s the only way I know how,” Arthur had said, voice softening the smallest bit. “I’ve tried to convince Morgana. I’ve _tried._ It hasn’t worked. I just—“

He had cut himself off, leaning more heavily onto the desk. Merlin had waited, heart in his throat.

“Magic has torn my family apart,” Arthur had muttered, looking up at Merlin slowly. “I can’t let it tear apart the families of thousands.”

And Merlin hadn’t thought he was doomed when he wasn’t able to argue with that.

It hadn’t taken much to convince Arthur to let him come. In fairness, the other knights had simply seen him show up to the armory and shrugged, Gwaine ruffling Merlin’s hair as Elyan fit him properly for a set of armor.

“Look at our little Merlin,” Gwaine had crowed, beaming as Percival and Lancelot came inside, “all dressed up properly and everything!”

“He’d better be,” Elyan had muttered, “leather isn’t going to cut it this time.”

“You sure you won’t be taking a sword?’ Percival had taken a spare of down, testing it for weight. “I know you’ve not been training with the rest of us, but—“

“I won’t need a sword,” Merlin had said.

Gwaine had scoffed. “We know, Merlin, but it’s for appearances’ sake, isn’t it?”

Merlin had frozen, until Lancelot and Leon— _Leon—_ had come up to him, placing their hands on his shoulders and smiling gently at him.

“We’re not blind, Merlin,” Leon had murmured, probably in an effort to stop Merlin’s knees knocking together, “and we don’t care.”

Merlin had stood there, flabbergasted, terrified, unsure of what to do, until Lancelot had brushed his hand carefully along his cheek and it came away damp.

“Come,” Leon had murmured as Gwaine and Percival covered the door, “shed your tears. Do not hold them in, you may not get another chance.”

“Of course he will,” Gwaine had growled. The knights had murmured their agreements as Merlin shuddered in Leon’s hold.

They hadn’t spoken about it more than that. They hadn’t needed to. When Merlin had pulled away, Leon had given him a slow, respectful nod and pulled him to his feet. He had passed Merlin’s helmet to him and told him they wouldn’t play the typical pranks that they did on the new knights.

“No point,” Gwaine had shrugged, “it’s not like you need it. You’ve been here longer than some of us.”

It had been nice, talking with the knights about old patrols. Gwaine had tossed Merlin Elyan’s waterskin and they started one of their games. Elyan’s only real disadvantage was that he was shorter than all of them. Of course, Merlin was only a few inches taller, but it counted.

“Come on,” Gwaine had called, “over here!”

Merlin had dodged around the end of the shelf and caught it with his outstretched hand. “Percival!”

Percival, of course, had simply caught the waterskin and held it above his head. Lancelot started a perfectly normal conversation with him, pulling Merlin closer so he could fix the back of his tunic. Merlin had laughed at Elyan’s fruitless attempts to jump up and reach the waterskin.

“Do you lot hear something,” Percival had asked conversationally when Elyan swore loudly, “maybe a breeze?”

“Oh, I swear—“

“No,” Gwaine had grinned, “I don’t think so.”

Elyan had glanced back and forth between them before smirking. “Well, then it’s a good thing the breeze _won’t_ be talking about the rat droppings that made it into Percival’s mail last patrol.”

“ _What_?”

“Traitor,” Gwaine had muttered when Percival immediately switched sides.

Merlin and Lancelot had just laughed when Leon held up his hands and backed away. “Don’t involve me in this.”

“Oh come on, it wasn’t _that_ bad!”

“Yeah, ‘cause unlike _you,”_ Elyan had said, retreating to safety, “ _he_ washes. _”_

“I wash!”

“Not often enough.”

“Oi!”

Lancelot had nudged Merlin up onto one of the tables, dragging Leon with them as the other three began to chase each other around the armory. “Children, the lot of them,” he had muttered to Merlin.

“Oh, they’ll be friends again once the next feast rolls around,” Merlin had said easily, “they’ll be stealing chickens together all day.”

“Didn’t the cook catch them last time,” Leon had muttered, watching Gwaine vault over the shields, “and threaten to have them put in the stocks?”

“I think they’d break them.”

“Probably.”

Then Arthur had arrived.

He had looked at Merlin in a suit of armor and walked slowly up to him. Merlin had stood, unwavering as Arthur reached for the edge of the mail shirt. He swallowed as Arthur tugged the edge.

“Make sure it fits him properly,” he had said to Elyan, “I can’t have it falling off.”

The knights had beamed. Merlin had smiled, and Arthur had nodded back before turning to look at Percival, trying to hide a training target behind his back.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Gwaine had replied instantly, edging away from Percival. “Absolutely nothing.”

Arthur had raised his eyebrows, looking at Leon for an explanation. Leon had shrugged, doing a remarkably good job of keeping a straight face while Gwaine mouthed death threats over Arthur’s shoulder.

“I believe it was a lesson on hygiene, sire.”

“Well,” Arthur had said, turning to Gwaine, “we’re certainly going to need that.”

“Oi!”

In fairness to Gwaine, it wasn’t like he was any worse than the other men as the army started out of Camelot’s center. Merlin had seen Gaius off with a solemn goodbye. Gaius had promised to have Merlin’s favorite waiting for him when he returned. Merlin rode with the main caravan, talking to the servants he knew when he could, never straying far from Arthur’s side. When they camped, he never moved farther away than a few paces from the tent. Luckily, he had Gwaine, Percival, Leon, Lancelot, and Elyan with him. And for the first few, he talked and laughed with them at night.

But as they got further and further away, the mood had darkened. Not just Merlin’s, but everyone’s. Even Gwaine was not immune.

Merlin found himself caught in a strange position. He wanted to reassure Arthur, to make him feel as secure as possible, for the sake of his men. And yet he wanted Arthur to call the whole thing off, to go back to Camelot, or at _least_ to leave the army here and try something else. But he didn’t want Arthur to die.

When Arthur asked him for advice, he had none to give that he hadn’t already. When Arthur asked him if _he_ was having second thoughts, he told him the truth.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

Merlin had thought, _honestly_ thought, that it would’ve been fine. He could save Arthur’s life from the sidelines, as he always had. He could serve his king and not betray his trust. It would work.

But then the heavens had opened up over the army as they neared the border and oil had rained down.

Merlin curses, looking around as the army scrabbles to cover themselves, avoid the soaking of as much as they could, knowing that it’s useless.

“What is this,” Arthur growls, ordering the troops to halt, “what is happening?”

“It’s raining oil.”

“As always, Merlin, your powers of observation never fail.” But the bite isn’t in it.

There’s nowhere to hide. The field stretches endlessly as far as the eye can see, the thick clouds, black, bubbling, furious overhead. The sharp splats cut through the army, eliciting winces and flinches wherever they strike. Merlin screws up his eyes, trying to keep the oil out. Next to him, he can just make out the others doing the same.

Merlin knows what’s coming next.

Morgana isn’t planning to fight Camelot’s army with her own murder of crows.

She’s planning to raze Camelot’s army to the ground and raise them from the ashes, a terrible phoenix to burn all of Albion.

Even the Pendragons aren’t immune to the flames.

Through the shower of oil, a cry goes out. Merlin squints. Beyond the darkness of the clouds is a thin, golden line. The sunlight, shining on the field. Covering it, shimmering in the intense light, is a plague of black. It stands, unwavering, unmoving.

The crows have arrived for the feast.

Arthur raises his hand to give another command when he freezes.

The first arrows blaze up from the crows and cut furious streaks across the dark sky, their flames licking eagerly at the few drops of oil they catch on their way, flaring brighter, sending burning drops to the ground.

There is no way the army can fight this.

Time slows. Merlin barely registers the crack of Arthur’s heart when he puts two and two together. He barely registers the resounding thud as his own plummets to the depths of the earth.

He knows what he has to do.

He slides from the horse and walks forward. With every step, he calls to the earth. Every footfall draws more and more power from its center, flowing up through his veins, crackling at his fingertips. He can feel his hair start to stand on end, every fiber bristling with energy. His eyes glow.

_I’m sorry, Arthur._

He raises his hands in a high arc above his head, the shield shimmering into existence. He flicks his fingers and the arrows freeze. The flames hiss and sputter. He channels the energy and thrusts his arm toward the black huddle on the horizon. The arrows splinter, burning hunks of metal and wood raining down, bouncing harmlessly off the shield. He pays them no heed. With the shield still intact, he tilts his head back and roars to the clouds, lighting cracking as he splits them open. Distantly, he feels his throat burn. He pays it no heed.

The clouds lighten. The shield shimmers. Water splashes in torrents, sweeping the oil to the earth. Where every drop lands, it hisses into the soil, flowing into Merlin’s veins. Sweat beads on his brow as he clenches his fist, seizing the earth below him. He feels the tremors shoot towards the army of crows.

He holds it, waiting, straining to keep the power in check. He holds it until he can feel them thrumming under the army.

He opens his fist.

Chasms open up beneath the feet of the crows, sending them hurtling down into the depths of the earth. Merlin grits his teeth and lets the energy flow through him, as the crows fall.

If he can’t kill them, he can keep them trapped.

The energy dissipates abruptly. He’s used it all. The chasms close. He collapses, exhausted. There is one more figure, alone, in black.

Morgana.

Even from this far away, he can hear her screech in rage. He keeps his eyes open long enough to see a faint puff of smoke.

He’s ruined it.

She’s gone.

And now Arthur knows.

He can’t keep the crows trapped forever, he’s going to have to stay. Keep them under. Push them back, over and over.

Gaius will have to wait a long time.

Arthur watches the whole affair with his mouth wide open. When he saw the arrows he knew he couldn’t do anything. He had led these men to their deaths and it wasn’t even a fair fight. It was a slaughter. He didn’t even have the time to tell them all how sorry he was, how honored he was that they all followed him, even if he led them to this. All he could do was look apologetically at Merlin. For not listening.

Except Merlin wasn’t there.

Arthur’s mouth had opened to cry for his servant when he saw Merlin out in front of them. Then it stayed open for a different reason.

_Merlin._

Sweet, clumsy, lazy Merlin brought down an entire army. A magical army. By himself. And he made it look easy.

As Arthur watches, his heart breaks.

Not because Merlin is a sorcerer, but what that _means._

Merlin has lied. Merlin has hidden. Merlin has _been_ here, for Arthur, for _Camelot,_ when it would rather see him burned. And yet here he stands, in front of an army.

Thousands saved. Thousands of _families_ saved. Thousands of lives, hearts, souls. Because of magic.

Because of Merlin.

Arthur slides off his horse, holding up a hand to stop the others approaching. He walks slowly up to Merlin, who falls onto his knees, his head bowed. He knows Merlin registers when he stops next to him because he bows his head further and places his hand behind his back.

“They won’t stop,” Merlin says quietly, “that won’t hold them for long. The war isn’t over yet.”

Merlin raises his head and it looks so _wrong._ Merlin is supposed to blush and laugh and smile and _never_ look so old, so broken, so tired.

“I’ll stay,” he says in that horrible _horrible_ voice. “I will keep them buried. Let the monster take care of the other monsters.”

If Arthur thought his heart ached before, it’s nothing compared to the pain of hearing Merlin call himself a monster. He scrambles for words, for something, _anything_ he can say. But only one thing comes to mind.

“That won’t be necessary,” he says, forcing his voice to sound more confident than it is. “You told me the army would stop once the war is over.”

Merlin looks up at him, confused.

“The war is over.”

Arthur takes out his sword and throws it to the ground.

“I will no longer fight against magic,” he announces, “not when it has singlehandedly saved the lives of so many of my people. My father was wrong. He believed magic was evil.”

He glances down at Merlin. “We have all seen today that it is not. We will make peace with those who practice magic in the hopes that another pointless slaughter will never happen again.”

There will be more details to work out, more people to convince. And there is always Morgana that they _must_ talk to. But Merlin can feel the crows fade, sleep, return to the earth. He can feel Arthur’s finger, touch light as a feather, lifting his chin, and then his whole body to his feet. He can see the trust shining in Arthur’s eyes.

“We should talk,” Arthur says quietly, “when we return home.”

Merlin just nods, still spellbound.

“And, Merlin?”

“Yes?”

Arthur pulls him into a tight hug. “Don’t ever call yourself a monster ever again.”

All Merlin can do is throw his arms around his king.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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